Harry Potter and the Desperate Housewife
by hrhrionastar
Summary: Harry and Ginny get married! Things go downhill from there...
1. The Wedding

**Author Notes**: Harry and Ginny get married! Things go downhill from there...Will be a much longer story, with Harry/Ginny and eventual Harry/Luna. Probably some Ron/Hermione as well. This chapter takes place December 8, 1999.

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**The Wedding**

Harry James Potter gazed thoughtfully at his reflection. The mirror showed him a smartly dressed young man with green eyes behind wire-rim glasses and black hair that stuck up in the back (he'd used some of Hagrid's greasy gel on it, but even that wasn't enough to tame the hair he'd inherited from his father—it stuck up defiantly). His bangs hid the lightning scar that hadn't so much as twinged in exactly one year, seven months, and six days.

"Am I ready?" he asked his reflection.

The mirror snorted. "Wedding, right?" it asked complacently. "Always the same."

Harry grinned ruefully, wondering if it was that obvious.

"Ready?" his best man asked, strolling casually into the room. Harry frowned. What right had Ron Weasley to act so carefree? His younger sister was marrying his best friend—shouldn't he be stiff and formal, like Bill (who, surprisingly, seemed to be the Weasley brother most affected at the thought of losing his baby sister) or covered in sentimental tears, like Mrs. Weasley, or stricken, like George (although George's stricken expression had little to do with the wedding)?

"As ready as I'll ever be," grinned Harry, making for the door.

"Wait just one moment, Potter," said Ron, blocking his progress. "You're my best mate, but if you hurt her, taking out You-Know-Who will look like child's play. Understand?"

Harry looked back at Ron, wondering when he'd grown up. Was it really eight years since they'd first met, sharing a compartment on the Hogwarts Express? It seemed like only yesterday…"Don't worry," he told Ron. "I'd never hurt her."

Ron stepped aside, and held the door for the groom, thinking, I love Harry, and all, but sometimes he's incredibly dense. Never hurt her? What'd he call it when he broke it off with her before we went hunting for Horcruxes in seventh year? Or all those times he ignored her, when she's loved him as long as I can remember? Never hurt her? He'd better not.

Meanwhile, in another room of the Burrow, three girls clustered around another mirror, talking.

"Oh, these shoes are too beautiful!" one of them, a bushy-haired girl wearing an elegant green dress, exclaimed. "Where did you find them, Luna? They're perfect!"

"Oh," the blonde girl adding the finishing touches to the embroidered hem of the wedding dress said vaguely, "Indira Karishma. The Patil twins have started a fashion revolution, you know. They kindly gave me the shoes at a very low price when they heard who I wanted them for."

"How sweet! They remembered Harry and the DA and everything! And I suppose you knew Padma, anyway, since she was a Ravenclaw. Isn't that just perfect? So they just gave you the shoes?" the bushy-haired girl asked.

"Well, not exactly," said Luna calmly. "And, really, they only did it because they're trying to make it in the design world, and what could be better than the patronage of Mrs. Harry Potter? Or Mrs. Harry Potter in about half an hour, allowing for all the last minute details, anyway."

The bushy-haired girl frowned in annoyance (she preferred the how-sweet-favor-for-the-great-Harry-Potter explanation) but before she could start a quarrel, the bride spoke.

"Hermione, don't. I can't stand another logic versus emotion-slash-reality-slash-Crumple-Horned Snorkacks—really, it's just logic versus Luna—bridesmaid debate right now. Well, girls," asked Ginevra Margaret Weasley, "what do you think? Am I ready?" She turned, holding out her arms and striking a pose.

"Oh, don't you look beautiful! My baby girl's getting married!" cried Molly Weasley, transfixed in the doorway. "I can't believe it!" She rushed over to Ginny and embraced her. "Mrs. Ginny Potter! Oh, sweetheart, this is the happiest day of your life! If only your dear brother were here—" she broke off, sobbing.

Ginny patted her mother on the back consolingly. "I know, Mum," she said, tears glistening in her eyes as well. "I know."

Hermione fidgeted, not sure what to do. Luna bent over her flowers, her long blonde hair forming a curtain around her face, in order to give mother and daughter some privacy.

"Well," said Mrs. Weasley a few minutes later, straightening up and dabbing at her eyes with an already soaked handkerchief. "I'd better be going—checking on the guests, you know, dears. Don't be late, sweetheart!" She hurried out of the room.

Ginny gazed thoughtfully at her Holyhead Harpies poster. Her long red hair, elaborately coiffed, gleamed in the glancing sunlight that showed through her window. "Am I doing the right thing?" she asked quietly.

Hermione looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Marrying Harry," Ginny elaborated. At Hermione's even more shocked look, she hastened to add, "I mean, getting married _now_. Of course, I've always wanted to marry him, but we've barely seen each other for months now. I feel like I haven't gotten him alone since the night he proposed, in July. And now it's December! That's five whole months! We've both been so busy—he has the Ministry, and I have the Harpies, not to mention a wedding to plan! And, before that, we didn't see each other much last year either. Seventh year wasn't exactly a blast. And there he was, writing your special legislation—"

"Ginny, the Anti-Torture Act is very important," reproached Hermione. "_And_, we just finished it. I mean, it still needs a bit of polishing, and then we've got to get it past the Wizengamot, but we're nearly there, you know? This is what we've been fighting for!"

"I know, I know," said Ginny hurriedly. "Godric, it's not that. I'm not denigrating the ATA—I think it's a great idea."

"Of course it is," agreed Luna. "Unforgiveable Curses are just the beginning, you know. Or perhaps they're the end. Still…"

"My point is—" began Ginny.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "It sounds like your actual point is that you're worried about marrying Harry because you, what, don't know him?" She snorted. "And as for not seeing him—well, that's all about to change, isn't it? You are having a proper honeymoon, aren't you?"

"Yes," agreed Ginny, brightening. She twirled a bit in her wedding dress, watching the white material swing gently around her feet. "So…" she began slyly. "What about you and my brother?"

Hermione flushed, then grinned. "It's good…"

"He looks much happier lately. You must be good for him," put in Luna.

"Well, you know Ron," said Hermione ruefully. "He never wants to admit how he really feels."

"Men!" exclaimed Ginny melodramatically, pouting at the mirror, flinging out her arms, and swaying precariously on one foot. She grabbed Hermione's shoulder to keep her balance, and Luna darted out of the way as her high-heel swept an arc across the floor. Luna rose, and Ginny pulled her into a one-armed hug, not letting go of Hermione's shoulder. All three girls gazed joyously at their image in the mirror, and then burst out laughing.

The wedding was well attended, Ernie MacMillan thought. He'd exchanged a word or two with Percy Weasley at the garden gate, and consequently had received confirmation of his theory that everyone who was anyone (from the DA to the Order of the Phoenix to the press) was present. He nodded complacently to Dean Thomas, who was sitting in the back looking uncomfortable, and to Hannah Abbott, who was grinning from ear to ear. He thought he saw Augusta Longbottom, but refrained from attempting to exchange even a nod with her. Whatever anyone said, Ernie was well aware that Neville's grandmother was far more powerful than most people seemed to realize.

A hush fell over the crowd as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom rose from their seats in the front row.

Andromeda Tonks watched the bride float down the aisle, white dress shining and long red hair elaborately laced with gold. Her two bridesmaids followed, both stunning in forest green dresses of the same style. Mrs. Tonks watched wistfully, wishing her own daughter could have had such a lovely wedding. It was so unjust—Nymphadora had only just begun in life, a new wife and mother…and her aunt, Andromeda's own sister, had ripped that away. It all came back to Voldemort, Andromeda thought bitterly. He had ruined so many lives…

"…then I declare you bonded for life." Harry and Ginny smiled into one another's eyes, hands clasped together. Andromeda sighed sorrowfully. Teddy Remus Lupin, one-and-a-half and restless, squirmed in her arms, his hair changing from a mild turquoise to an angry red.

"Gran_drom_eda," he complained. "_Bored_!"

"Hush, Teddy, hush."

Rita Skeeter was not having a good day. Her coffee that morning had been cold, she'd had to fire her assistant before lunch for amateur embezzlement (laughably obvious; no one seemed to have any standards anymore) and the Weasley-Potter wedding was so cheerful and beautiful—the bride and groom glowed, everyone who was supposed to be there was, no one said the wrong name…Disappointing, Rita thought. This sweet-as-sugar affair would never give her much of a headline. And the Weasleys seemed so anti-scandal, too. Even the one who worked with dragons, or the eldest, who was almost a werewolf and had married a Veela. Rita watched the groom dance with the bride's mother, and the bride dance with her father (since, for obvious reasons, the groom's father was deceased), and wondered if this were going to be a complete waste of time.

She spotted bushy-haired Hermione Granger dancing with the youngest Weasley brother, and scowled. The newlywed Potters barely stayed for the toasts (the best man, the youngest Weasley brother, droned on and on about secret love and Potter rescuing the Weasley girl from this, that and the other horrible danger, until Rita was ready to scream) before making good their escape.

"Lovely couple, aren't they?" Muriel told Rita loudly. "And you can quote me on that. Pity Ginevra didn't wear my tiara, though. Younger generation! No respect! Harry Potter's a brave man, you know. We missed him at William's wedding to the French girl. Still—brave man, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course. So do you have any doubts about the marriage? Are they too young, too restless…?" Rita trailed off expectantly, quill poised.

"Too young?" began Muriel.

"Muriel!" shrieked ancient, doddering Elphias Doge. "Come away at once!" He glared at Rita, whose lips curved into an entirely artificial smile.

"Elphias, you're such an old woman!" grumbled Muriel, allowing herself to be led away. Rita sighed in frustration, and looked around for other likely targets to interview.

"Well? What do you think?" asked Harry James Potter, gesturing around at a secluded cabin in a forest glade. "It's pretty empty out here…not much to do…"

"Oh," said Ginny Margaret Weasley Potter, grinning up at him without even bothering to look around, "I'm sure we can find…_something…_to do…"


	2. Miscommunication

**Miscommunication**

"Mmmm…where are we?" Ginny Potter asked, without opening her eyes. She clung to her new husband's shoulder, as though unsteady from the Apparition. In truth, she just enjoyed being that close to him.

He laughed happily, and she heard the sound of an opening door. Then he swept her into his arms, and strode forward. She opened her eyes in time to see the dark threshold as he carried her over it; then the door shut and all was darkness.

"_Lumos_," he whispered, and, reflected in his wandlight, she saw dark portraits of darkly beautiful people and a row of skulls beside the staircase. This could only mean one thing.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place?" she breathed, in awe and horror.

Harry carried her down the stairs to the kitchen (it had been completely refurbished and looked much better than she had expected, Ginny had to admit) and set her on her feet. "Yeah," he said casually. "Is that a problem? I mean, of course, if you don't want to live here…But I thought, since the Order got rid of all the really dangerous stuff, and it was Sirius's house…Besides, it's Unplottable, so Rita Skeeter and the Paparazzi of Doom won't be able to find us. I had it refurbished and everything—the hall's actually the worst of what's still left, you know. You don't mind, do you?"

He looked so hopeful that Ginny's heart melted a little. He loved her, after all, and what kind of a Gryffindor would she have been if she hadn't known loving Harry Potter came with sacrifices? It had simply never occurred to her that one of those sacrifices might involve living in a house created by and for Dark wizards—even if it was refurbished, it still gave her the chills. But then, Harry's logic was impeccable—she certainly didn't want Rita Skeeter popping in and surprising them during an intimate moment…

"Of course not," she said, meaning it. "Well?" she teased, reaching up to smooth his wild black hair. "Going to show me how well you've refurbished the bedrooms?"

Harry Potter looked down into his wife's warm brown eyes, and grinned. "Anything for you," he said, lifting her into his arms again.

"It's not that I don't appreciate the way he just handled everything so perfectly," Ginny Potter attempted to explain to her dear friend, Hermione Granger. The two young women were seated in the spacious kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Hermione was sipping coffee, while Ginny played idly with a few stray fragments of napkin. "And it's not that I don't understand that everything is much easier this way, or that I mind having a lunatic house-elf who always wants to come and 'clean' at precisely the wrong moment—or that I think it wasn't a wonderfully considerate, helpful thing to do, getting everything set like this before the wedding so we'd have something to come back to, or that I don't love how much he cares about me, catering to my every need before I even realize I need it, and everything—it's just, well, I might've liked a say—just a bit of input—on what color to paint the bedroom, or where to put the new coffee table, or whether to get plates with flowers or Kneazles, or—well, you know what I mean, right, Hermione?" There was a pause. "Hermione?" Ginny said a little louder. "Hermione!"

"What?" Hermione gave a start, setting down her empty coffee mug. "Oh, sorry, Ginny, I'm afraid I was thinking—you do think the ATA will pass, don't you? I mean, of course, if the Wizengamot has any sense or desire to be law-abiding citizens of a peaceful state—I wonder what would have happened if we'd gone through with that democratic election idea—but no, the senior members would never have agreed on such an American system…We're terribly lucky as it is, to have gotten Kingsley. Oh! Is that the time? I was supposed to be at the Ministry fifteen minutes ago! Harry's looking over my revisions right now, and then we're presenting the ATA to the Wizengamot later today—where, oh where, did I put my cloak?_ Accio_ cloak! So sorry, Ginny, got to run—I'm sure everything's fine!" And with that, Hermione Granger raced up the stairs two at a time, and out into the chilly winter air, where she Disapparated with a loud Crack! that sent several disgruntled birds flying for cover.

Ginny Margaret Weasley Potter sighed in frustration. She glanced down at the pieces of napkin she'd been playing with. They formed the words, SAVE ME. Ginny gave a despairing cry and rested her head in her hands.

At length, she muttered decisively, "_I need to get back to work_."

"_Think_ about it?" Ron Weasley demanded in outraged frustration. "It's the most brilliant thing anyone's ever come up with since Dumbledore and the Deluminator! And they need to think about it? Did you explain how torture isn't even an effective method of interrogation, according to Chapter Five of the _Auror's Manuel_?"

His two best friends in the world stared at him in shocked silence. "What, I can't have knowledge?" he demanded petulantly.

Harry laughed, but Hermione said, "Ron, I think it's great that you're reading the _Auror's Manuel_, and I completely agree—we have to make the Wizengamot understand how important this is. Torture is evil. We can't let ourselves descend to the level of the Death Eaters."

"Of course not," agreed Harry.

"So, what's the plan?" asked Ron. He and Hermione looked expectantly at Harry. Inwardly, he sighed. Did he have to do everything around here? Just a short while ago, he'd been convinced that all would be well after the Final Battle with Voldemort. Yet here he was, still the acknowledged authority on everything from the Dark Arts to household management. He certainly was no expert on politics—although everything he'd ever learned from the Malfoys led him to believe discretion was the better part of valor.

"I think we should give them some time," he said at last. "If they don't approve the Act, we can always appeal—no reason to antagonize the Wizengamot before it's made its decision."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled," said Hermione briskly. "Ron, want to fly me home?"

Ron glanced at Harry, but decided against arguing the point. He was far from immune to Hermione's charms, as Harry knew well. "Sure," he said, and they left together. Harry smiled to himself, and pulled a sheaf of parchment toward him.

Later, Harry made his way home after an exhausting day at the office. The house was dark (but then it always was). Harry waited until he'd reached the kitchen before calling, "Ginny?"

No answer. Was she even in the house?

"_Homenum revelo_," whispered Harry. Nothing happened.

"Where is she?" he muttered, frustrated. Not to be outdone by the unexpected, he called, "Kreacher!"

With a loud Crack! the ancient house-elf appeared, bowing. "Master Harry summoned Kreacher?" he asked.

"Where's Ginny?"

"Mistress Ginny has not yet returned from her shopping expedition, Master Harry. Shall I find her for you?"

"No," said Harry, running his fingers through his hair distractedly and picturing the worst. "No, just start dinner for us, would you? I'll find her." His casual tone was belied by the tension that seemed to race through him. His scar hadn't hurt in ages—it was exceedingly unlikely that Voldemort had somehow returned and kidnapped his wife. But the Death Eaters hadn't all been rounded up by the Ministry, or awakened from the Imperius Curse…Harry hurried out again, Disapparating from the top step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Several hours later, an exhausted Harry Potter Apparated back home in order to take Kreacher up on his offer of assistance, and find an umbrella (it had started to rain during his search).

"Harry, you're home!" a cheerful voice exclaimed. "Oh, you're all wet!"

"Blood traitors!" began the portrait of Walburga Black. Annoyed, Ginny Potter sent one good silencing charm her way. Mrs. Black continued to writhe and scream, but without her usual volume.

"Are you all right?" Harry demanded. He'd been so worried! And here she was, completely fine! He supposed he ought not to have flown off the handle about her absence, but years of looking over his shoulder for Voldemort had made him paranoid. And she could have left a note.

"Of course I'm all right!" Ginny exclaimed. "You'd better come into the kitchen—Kreacher made us dinner, but the stove's a terrible mess, I'm afraid. I can't seem to fix it."

"I'll look at it," Harry said automatically, already reviewing what little he knew of magical kitchen appliances. Although more effective than Muggle ones, they did tend to be rather temperamental.

He allowed Ginny to lead him into the kitchen, stopping only to dry off his robes with a charm he'd learnt from Hermione. The food was delicious; Harry realized he preferred it to Ginny's cooking, but suppressed the disloyal thought at once.

That night, after he'd fixed the stove, helped Kreacher clean the kitchen, and finished a report for Auror training (not that he needed the instruction in Defense Against the Dark Arts; still, it helped keep him in practice), he sat, staring out the window at the street below, thinking.

Ginny's behavior had been infuriating; there was no doubting that. Still, he was glad she'd enjoyed her day. It was too bad they couldn't spend more time together, but what with the ATA, not to mention his regular workload, it appeared they'd both have to wait to indulge their inclination. Perhaps he was doing too much—but no, Harry thought: even with Voldemort gone, the fight against evil could never truly be finished. Still, here he was, much better off than he had any right to expect: good job, doing what he loved; marvelous, loyal friends; his own house; and of course his beautiful wife.

As though called by his thoughts, Ginny came into their bedroom, shaking out her long red hair. "Come to bed, Harry," she called softly.

Roused from his abstraction, Harry turned away from the window toward his wife, thinking, 'I must have been a fool to doubt. Look at what I have—lots of people would kill to be this lucky. Of _course_, I'm blissfully happy; I _must_ be.'


	3. Home

**Home**

Ginny stepped onto the Quidditch pitch, breathing deeply._ How_ she loved this place. She loved the way the sun shone on the golden goalposts, the crunchy sound of her boots on the freshly mown grass, the smooth wood of her broomstick under her fingers as she took off, the taste of the air in her face—the smell of freedom.

She did a few laps around the pitch out of sheer exuberance, watching Mandy Brocklehurst and Corona Summers toss the Quaffle back and forth. This, she thought with blinding certainty, was where she _belonged_.

"Hey, Ginny!" cried little Gypsy Lee—so-called for her lively face, long black hair, and affinity for Divination. She flew in a loop around Mandy and Corona, Ginny's fellow Chasers. "So…how was the honeymoon?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, do tell," put in pudgy Peronella Pinkerton, the Keeper, from her hovering perch in front of the middle goalpost. Peronella didn't look it, but she was fast. Even as she teased Ginny, her muscles tensed in preparation, and her eyes darted from face to face—she was ready to block any of them. Ginny smiled fondly.

"The honeymoon was great," she told them. _'Though I can't say the same for the homecoming,'_ she thought wryly. Yet, somehow, flying here with her teammates, her worries and petty annoyances seemed to have been left on the ground. She felt light, as though all her anxiety had been lifted.

"What's it like?" Beater Mylie Cinchkin wanted to know. She opened her wide eyes even wider, giving Ginny a beautifully innocent look of inquiry. "Being married to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World?"

Ginny laughed. "I don't know, seeing as how I've never been married to anyone else."

"I bet he's nicer than my boyfriend," complained Mandy.

"What's the latest?" Ginny asked. "I want to know _everything_ I missed!"

"Gossip on your own time, Weasley!" A tall, determined woman flew toward her players. "Let's get started, birds!"

"Nice to see you, too, Gwenog," said Ginny mischievously. She didn't even catch the incorrect surname until several minutes later, by which time it was too late to correct Gwenog: '_Potter, not Weasley,_' Ginny reminded herself.

Gwenog Jones, Beater and Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, gave no sign that she had heard Ginny's comment. Gwenog was one of the oldest members of the team, after Corona, who had a husband and two teenage sons, and she was definitely the most determined. The truth was, Corona Summers was the exception to the rule: most professional Quidditch players retired before they hit forty, or when they started having children. Ginny thought that was stupid—she didn't believe one ever got too old to play Quidditch, and she'd grown up in such a large family that she reckoned good babysitters must be a Knut a dozen—but she figured she still had at least twenty years, and that was ages; far more than she'd ever expected to get while fighting for her life during the war.

Gwenog led the team in a hard practice. By the end of it, Ginny was so exhausted she couldn't think straight; luckily, she'd dismounted from a broom many times before, and her body knew what to do. She staggered into the changing rooms with her teammates, reveling in the special kind of total exhaustion well-played Quidditch always induced in her. It had been a_ good_ practice.

"Oh, that was good," sighed Mandy, echoing Ginny's thoughts.

"Totally," agreed Gypsy from the floor. She always put in a full stretching routine after practice. She was also the only one with any real energy to spare afterward. As for Ginny, she was sure she would collapse where she stood if she weren't so _hungry_.

"So," said Mylie, voicing _that_ thought, "how about we all go and get something to eat? I know this great little restaurant in Ottery St. Catchpoole—"

"Sure," said Gypsy, always up for adventure. She was probably planning a night on the town, Ginny thought, and was surprised at her own twinge of jealousy.

"Absolutely; I'm in," agreed Mandy. "Hey, Gwenog, how 'bout it?"

"I'm busy tonight," Gwenog called back.

"I'll be there," put in Peronella.

"Not me," shrugged Corona. "I've got to get home, because unlike you lot, I have an actual life!"

"Ha, ha," said Mylie with good-natured sarcasm.

"What about you, Ginny?" Gypsy asked. "You haven't said anything."

"Well," Ginny began, hating to say it but seeing no other choice, "I'd love to, honestly, but I've got to get home, too. I've got to get home and make my husband dinner, before he freaks out like the last time I was late."

"Sounds like fun," said Mylie casually. "I mean, Gin—_Harry Potter_. I guess it's different for you, though—knowing him for years and all."

"See you!" Gypsy called as she, Mandy, Mylie, and Peronella headed out. Ginny watched them go wistfully.

Which was stupid, she told herself, as she finished getting ready to go. It was ridiculous to be homesick for the Harpies. So what if she was going back to Grimmauld Place at the moment? She would be back here tomorrow, after all, and the next day, and the next…because this was where she belonged.


	4. AT lAst

**AT lAst**

Harry Potter was having a really good day. It had started out really well, too: Kreacher made him and Ginny an excellent breakfast, which they ate in bed, he got to the office before Gawain Robards, for once, and then, just before lunch, it happened. _At last_.

"Hey, Potter!" called Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic, from down the hall. The other Aurors looked up curiously as he passed. Kingsley Shacklebolt was tall, bald and black, and he seemed to exude a reassuring aura of confidence. Almost everyone seemed to respond instinctually to his air of calm, and Harry was no exception.

"Kingsley, hi," he said warmly, smiling. "Got news for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Kingsley said, unable to keep a triumphant note from his voice. He leaned against the wall of Harry's cubicle, grinning. "It passed, Potter."

"The ATA?" Harry asked excitedly.

Kingsley nodded.

"YES!" Harry yelled, punching the air. Throughout Auror Headquarters, faithful co-workers echoed his joyful yell. Even Kingsley had lost some of his customary stoicism and was grinning like a maniac.

When the cheers had quieted down somewhat, Kingsley continued, "I don't say it wasn't a near thing—well, it was unanimous—" he was forced to pause as Harry let out another whoop, "—but there was some serious debate going on for awhile there."

"I should say so," Harry agreed. "It's been, what, three months?"

"Potter, you should know better than to think even _you_ can rush bureaucracy," Kingsley said solemnly, but his eyes gave him away. They sparkled with some inner joy. "Anyway, I'd love to give you a blow-by-blow account of the discussions, but I've got a lunch meeting, and there is something else I thought you should know…"

He paused, and Harry waited. There was more? Probably bad news, after all, good things usually came singly…He rather wished Kingsley had given him the bad news first—whatever else there was would undoubtedly be a letdown. After all, after news like that, how it could it not be? The ATA, passed! He felt happier than he had in months. Today, March 16, 2000, ought to go down in history, he thought to himself. At last, a world anniversary he wouldn't need to cringe over. Although he supposed that wasn't really fair—already May 2 had a happier connotation than the Final Battle. It was his niece, Victoire's, birthday. Harry absolutely loved being able to call her his niece. It was so good to have a proper family, _at last.._

Kingsley cleared his throat, looking strangely embarrassed, and Harry recalled his wandering thoughts. "I—that is, Hestia and I…well, we're getting married!"

"Married? That's great, I'm really happy for you both," Harry said at once. And he was—Kingsley and Hestia had together recovered from the war and its terrible and lasting effects. He couldn't have been happier for them. This was good news! It seemed strange, after years of quite the reverse, but that was what reconstruction was all about.

"Yes, thank you, Harry," Kingsley said, and, if Harry hadn't known any better, he would have suspected the man of being quite flustered. "Listen, we'd be honored if you could be there." He added, as an afterthought, "and your wife, too, of course."

"Of course. We'd be delighted. Listen, I know you've got to run, but why don't you both come to dinner tonight; we can celebrate."

"Thanks, Harry. We'll be there," said Kingsley happily, and he hurried out, parrying questions from Harry's fellow Aurors on the way.

Hardly had Kingsley departed when two more people came rushing up to Harry's cubicle. He'd just been about to go grab lunch in the Ministry dining hall, when Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger emerged from one of the pestilential lifts and hurried over.

"Harry, Harry, did you hear?" Hermione asked, beaming at him.

Harry didn't suppress his answering grin. "Kingsley was just here."

"This. Is. Brilliant!" cried Ron, pumping the air with his fist. "We just got back from the courtroom, they finally passed it, can you believe it? Oh, and there's something else," he added, his ears going red.

Hermione smacked him in the arm. "Oh, great, I come second," she complained, but her eyes were smiling.

"Why, what's going on?" Harry asked, looking from one to the other. Ron was looking down at his feet, but Harry saw his lips curve into a small smile.

"I…I asked Hermione to marry me," he said softly.

"And I said yes!" Hermione shrieked, shoving her left hand toward Harry, who saw that a ring glittered upon it. "We wanted to just elope, but the truth is, neither of us could do that to Mrs. Weasley. So I'm thinking it'll be small, and really soon. I'm just so excited!"

"That's great, you guys, wow," said Harry, a little stunned, but definitely pleased. So Ron and Hermione were getting married! He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen it coming, but it was definitely still great news. Harry considered revising his previous opinion: perhaps good things did come in threes… "Congratulations! We should go out and celebrate—I'll buy you lunch, and you're both invited to dinner tonight."

"Ooh, let's go!" said Hermione. "That's so sweet of you, Harry!"

"Listen, Harry," Ron said quietly as the three of them headed for the Lifts of Doom (as Harry liked to call them; honestly, one of these days, he was going to lobby Kingsley to have them put in some proper stairs—safer, faster…). "I want you to be my best man."

"Of course I will, Ron," agreed Harry at once, touched but not surprised. "Oh, listen," he added more loudly. Ron and Hermione waited expectantly. "Guess who else is getting married?"

"I don't dare hazard a guess," smiled Hermione.

"Percy and Audrey," Ron said gloomily at the same moment. "Honestly, what he sees in that woman…"

"Ron!" Hermione protested.

"Well, she's an icicle, really—" Ron began.

Harry determined to head off any incipient Newly-Engaged-Couple quarreling before it could get into full-swing. "Kingsley and Hestia," he said loudly.

"No, really? That's so great, they're definitely perfect for each other!" Hermione gushed.

"Yeah, good on Kingsley. He tell you just now?"

"Uh-huh, and I invited him to dinner, too…"

The trio's voices faded as the golden lift doors closed. With a collective sigh, the other Aurors got back to work or went to lunch. Harry Potter was well liked in the department, for all he was rather young to be a full-fledged Auror…not that anyone would ever protest. After all, it was _Harry Potter_. Ron Weasley was still in training, and not too bad. And they'd all heard about Hermione Granger. In fact, if Harry was the most popular boy baby's name in the Wizarding World, Hermione was the corresponding girl's one. A trio of heroes: that was what they were.

Harry and Ginny got home at about the same time that night. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, and they kissed on the doorstep, before going in.

"How was your day?" he asked her.

"Exhausting," she sighed. "You?"

"Brilliant! It passed, Ginny!" He said it exultantly, and rather too loudly—Mrs. Black woke and started shrieking at them. Harry ignored her, used to it by now.

"What?" Ginny asked as they made their way down to the kitchen.

"The ATA!" Harry exclaimed. "It passed unanimously! After months, even years of effort—at last—! Well, it's a triumph. Kingsley came into my office just before lunch—which reminds me! He and Hestia and Ron and Hermione are coming over tonight, to celebrate."

"And you made this plan without even telling me?" Ginny demanded.

Belatedly, Harry realized she seemed less than thrilled. "I didn't think you'd mind. It's Ron and Hermione."

"And Kingsley and Hestia! And, what, suddenly I have to make dinner for six people? You know, Harry, you're not the only one with a job!" Ginny said, angrily slamming some pots and pans on the counter.

"If you're too tired, Ginny, don't worry," Harry said at once, mastering a slight irritation. He supposed, charitably, that she'd had a bad day with the Harpies. Sometimes he thought Gwenog Jones worked her too hard—not that he objected to her Quidditch career, but it did seem like it got to be too much for her sometimes. "It's fine, I'll make dinner."

"No, no," she muttered acidly. "You want me to do it, I'll do it! Go and rescue Kingsley and Hestia from Mrs. Black, they're probably here by now." Harry paused uncertainly by the door. Ginny seemed to be in rather a bad mood—he hoped she'd cheer up when she heard the rest of the news. He debated telling her, but she glared at him and made a shooing motion with a long wooden spoon. "Go!"

He decided the happy couples could give her the news themselves; after all, why shouldn't they get the chance to make her smile? Maybe she would even cheer up a bit.

He got to the head of the stairs just then, and saw Kingsley and Hestia standing by the troll umbrella stand, obviously having just knocked it over, and then Hermione and Ron were there, too, and Harry couldn't help feeling cheered as Ron made a tentative joke and Hermione glared at the plaque of house-elf heads on the wall.

Over dinner, Kingsley said genially, "well, two engaged couples in one day—looks like you two are trendsetters."

"Yes, it's all simply lovely, isn't it?" Hermione said happily. "Everything's working out so beautifully."

Ron smiled at her, and covered her hand with his. Kingsley and Hestia exchanged a cheerful glance. Harry and Ginny carefully avoided one another's gaze.

After all, Harry assured himself, quarrels were natural, and there had to be something a little off, on a day like this—there was a law somewhere. A silver lining in reverse. Taken all in all, it had still been a really good day.


	5. Rainbow's Beginning

**Rainbow's Beginning**

"Tomorrow afternoon, I will be the happiest of women," sighed Hermione Jean Granger, leaning her elbows on the bar's counter, "but tonight…tonight I'm just another girl. It's quite novel, actually."

"And what about us?" Ginny Potter asked lightly. She was sitting rather straight on her stool, one leg swinging back and forth. Her long red hair swung when she moved.

"Well, you've already married the love of your life," said Hermione.

Ginny seemed to stiffen. "I know."

Hermione laughed. "It's not an insult, Ginny. Honestly, I think you're lucky; you and Harry are so perfect together—"

"I know, it's just—" Ginny paused, frustrated. "Whatever. So, Luna, what do you think of our girls' night out? What did you call it, Hermione? A 'bachelorette party'?"

"It's a Muggle tradition," Hermione explained.

Luna Lovegood tilted her head to one side, considering the two other young women. She was silent for so long Ginny wondered if she was going to answer, and Hermione started framing her own next remark.

"Muggles have had many interesting ideas, of course: toothpaste, paperwork, the wheel… I don't really care where we go; I'm just glad we're all here, together. Tomorrow is a very important day," Luna said seriously.

"Yes," sighed Hermione. "What do you suppose Ron is doing right now?"

Ginny grinned. "Embracing Muggle tradition?" she suggested wickedly.

"Oh! You think Harry and Neville—_Neville!_—would lead him astray like that? Not that he would need much leading…" Hermione fumed. "I need another drink…"

Ginny made a sign to Madam Rosmerta. "Want anything, Luna?" she asked.

"I think I've had enough alcohol for one evening. It's one of the Seven Standard Poisons, you know," said Luna calmly. "But thank you."

"I suppose that's supposed to mean we've had too much," grumbled Hermione. "But, Luna, this is a life-altering step—marriage. Marriage! I'm not sure we're ready for it. I've read all the relevant material of course—"

"Of course," murmured Ginny, hiding a smile.

"—And I know compromise is the cornerstone of success, and of course you have to plan for the children—"

Ginny stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Hermione looked surprised. Luna widened her eyes innocently.

"Planning for children," said Ginny impatiently. She gestured for Hermione to go on.

"Children are a blessing," commented Luna. "I hope I have children. I want lots—a big, happy family. Maybe not just yet."

Hermione took another sip of her drink. "If you don't plan for children, you'll never have time for anything else. And since Ron and I mean to be a two-career family, we do have to think about these things. Luckily, there's a very usual potion—like the pill—and if you drink some of it every morning, you won't get pregnant."

"I know about that," Ginny said, rather embarrassed. "It's really hard to brew, though."

"Yes," giggled Hermione. "And if you don't get it exactly right, it acts as a powerful aphrodisiac!" She laughed loudly, and then shook her head to clear it. "You know, I may be a little drunk," she said thoughtfully.

Luna pulled Hermione's fingers away from her glass, and set it at some distance on the counter. "Come. We must go now, before the Blibbering Humdingers start having a party in here."

As they left, Ginny pulled Luna aside and asked in an undertone, "do you really believe in Blibbering Humdingers?"

Luna smiled enigmatically. "Their existence is independent of my belief or disbelief."

Ginny shrugged, interpreting this as 'I prefer to remain mysterious,' and caught up to Hermione in time to guide her down the steps. The three young women Apparated home together—Luna guiding the other two. They were all staying at the Burrow for the wedding.

The next morning rain threatened. Clouds rolled ominously overhead, and the air had an unsettled taste. Hermione woke late, took one look out the window, and went down to breakfast in her nightgown to corner Mrs. Weasley about weather-controlling magic.

Ron Weasley also overslept. His best friend in the world, Harry Potter, attempted to wake him at ten that morning. "Ron!_ Ron_!" he called loudly.

Ron sat up with a start, his eyes wide and panicked. "Did I miss it?" he asked desperately. "She's still here, isn't she? Hermione!"

"Good morning," said Harry cheerfully. "No, you haven't missed the wedding—honestly, it's not as though we could have it without you, you know—and Hermione is still in the house, as far as I know. Probably off with Ginny, Luna, Mrs. Weasley and her mother, doing girl stuff. Oh, and it looks like it might rain."

"Rain?" Ron asked. "Does that matter? Would Hermione rather have it sunny? There's something about good luck and weddings—" he broke off, staring around at his room as though he'd never seen it before.

Harry laughed. "Come down to breakfast," he suggested.

The wedding was small—only the rapidly growing Weasley family, the Grangers, and select family friends, like Luna, Neville, and Hagrid. Hermione said she preferred it that way; she'd made Harry help her set up a ward that undid all concealing enchantments, including an Animagus in animal form, in order to keep out the press—and it had taken several weeks to properly research and cast. Ron claimed he didn't care who saw or didn't see the wedding. They were getting married—that was the important thing.

Still, the Cake Incident was a very near-run thing—and Ron couldn't pretend_ that_ was a matter of indifference to him. Victoire and Teddy managed to spill the first batch of icing, and Mrs. Weasley had to whip up some more on very short notice. Fleur ably assisted her; she also took on the job of scolding the children.

Harry was on the watch during the actual ceremony; Ron was looking rather green. It reminded Harry of the time with the slug-vomiting spell, or the time before Ron's first Quidditch match, or his second, or his third…Harry grinned nostalgically, but redoubled his vigilance. Consequently, he saw Hermione start to trip on her train (her wedding dress was strapless and very elaborate) and Luna deftly catch her by the elbow. Ginny, who had her nose buried in her bouquet at the time, appeared not to notice.

"Do you, Ronald Bilius…" the minister said at last. Harry smiled at his two best friends, glad they had finally realized they were perfect for each other. He felt as though his own wedding had been years ago (although it had in fact occurred six months previously).

"And do you, Hermione Jean…" the minister asked. Ginny watched her friend's face closely, curious: was she, at this moment, the happiest of women? Ginny was glad she hadn't warned her of the disillusionment in store. After all, no matter how perfect for each other Ron and Hermione were, the wedding wouldn't solve all their problems. It would be naïve, Ginny thought, to expect the marriage to be as perfect as the wedding.

"Then I declare you bonded for life." Ron and Hermione gazed into one another's eyes, and their doubts seemed to disappear like smoke in a fierce wind. A few raindrops fell on their faces.

"Look," whispered Hermione. "A rainbow."

"We should find the end," Ron whispered back.

Hermione grinned. "Oh," she said softly. "Not just yet."

The reception was mainly memorable for the excellent food, but there was also a certain speech by a certain best man…

Harry rose calmly (after the Final Battle, he'd gotten quite used to making speeches) and waited for silence.

"I've been waiting for years for these two to get together," he began. There were a few laughs. "Of course, it might've taken them this long because they were busy helping me—from my first year in the Wizarding world to finding and destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes to writing the ATA. Ron and Hermione are both very brave and selfless people, and they've consistently saved my life. I've known them since our first year together, and there couldn't be better friends.

"But getting back to their relationship: the first time they met was on the Hogwarts Express. Ron attempted a spell that failed miserably, and Hermione began her long tradition of telling him off.

There were a few rough patches—that time in third year with Crookshanks versus Peter Pettigrew (I'm calling it a draw); or when Hermione set a bunch of fierce birds on Ron after she saw him kissing Lavender Brown—she's well out of this, you know." Harry winked at Lavender, who grimaced slightly.

"Anyway, they finally decided to realize they were made for each other during the Final Battle. Ever since, they've been hurtling toward this moment—and I know they're going to be truly happy together. So you can all raise your glasses to Ron and Hermione Weasley!"

Harry grinned over at Ron and Hermione, who blushed as their extended family toasted them. He was so proud of them in that moment. Here they were—perhaps all was well, after all.


	6. Tea with Luna Lovegood

**Tea with Luna Lovegood**

Late that summer, in early September, Ginny Potter sat in the cadaverous kitchen, swinging one booted foot and glaring at the scrupulously neat cupboards across from her. It was early afternoon, and she was all alone in the house—or, almost all alone—she supposed idly that Kreacher was around somewhere. Whenever she saw him he claimed he was cleaning, but the house didn't seem to be getting any nicer or neater.

Not that it wasn't neat—Harry had fixed it up as best anyone could, and he kept it neater than she'd ever seen anywhere—much less had she lived in such tidy surroundings. If she left anything out, even a half-empty cup of milk or something, he'd have it put away and cleaned up before she knew it. Sometimes, Ginny thought she would prefer to clean up her own messes. She was an adult, after all. And what was so wrong with a bit of mess? It gave the house a lived-in look.

He'd even taken over the cooking—not that she minded. He was an expert, of course. It annoyed her when Kreacher helped, though. He'd betrayed them to You-Know-Who, even if Harry had decided to forget all about that. And anyway, surely that was rather unsanitary.

She was roused from these unprofitable reflections by the unmistakable sounds of someone attempting to get past the firing squad that was the hall of old Black portraits, and swept up the staircase to rescue her guest.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said easily when she got to the top, waving her wand at the portrait of Mrs. Black.

Her guest, a blonde girl with wide eyes and a dress with a floral print, looked around from her conversation with one of the more friendly portraits.

"Ginny, I'm so glad to see you," she said in her dreamy voice. They embraced briefly.

"Luna, it's been too long," replied Ginny. "Come down to the kitchen."

The two young women headed downstairs, and Ginny made tea. She found it rather soothing, waiting for the water to boil and watching Luna watch her.

"What do you see?" she asked at last.

"You're quite bored, aren't you?" Luna replied. "People don't usually ask me what I see. They're afraid of the answers."

"That's stupid," said Ginny at once, feeling sorry for her friend. "Whoever's afraid of what you say is a coward! And anyway, I like it. I don't suppose you could tell me my fortune? I know Trelawney's the one who actually made prophecies, but she's nothing on you, honestly. Do you remember that time you told me Michael was going to ask me out, and he did the very next day? Or with the dangers of post-O.W.L. partying when there are Death Eaters on the loose—not that we knew that then…"

"I was more worried about the Wrackspurts, but I should have known they were just trying to be distracting. You hate this place, don't you?" Luna asked, out of the blue.

Ginny didn't answer immediately. She took the tea over to the kitchen table, and handed Luna a plate of scones. Finally, she said, "I don't know. Do I? I mean, I do, don't I? For the longest time I thought I didn't—not _really_—I mean, it's just a house. But it's an evil house, do you know what I mean?"

Luna tilted her head consideringly. "It's not precisely evil…just cursed, a bit. Most things—most old things—are, you know. But that's not it. That's not why you hate it."

"Fine. Why do I hate it? I mean, Harry's all, it's just the ideal living space, and why not, and what could be easier—a few renovations here, a thorough cleaning there, and you're set, right? I just don't get it. Why couldn't we have a normal house? One without looming, gloomy portraits and that horrible row of house-elf heads—I mean, that's sick. And it's organized all wrong, too. There are hardly any windows, so it's gloomy on the sunniest day. And I know Harry's always upstairs in Sirius's old room—he wants to keep it exactly as is, like some kind of shrine."

Luna blinked at her. "Naturally."

"Naturally? What's natural about his obsession with Sirius?" Ginny complained. Ordinarily, she would have felt guilty for calling it an obsession. But with Luna, she knew she could say anything. And why should she skate around the truth, as though sainted Harry Potter couldn't have any weird obsessions?

"Well, he was just about the only family Harry had who loved him," Luna explained. "And he was there for him when he needed him. This house helps Harry feel closer to Sirius."

Ginny sighed. "Okay, okay, but what about _me_?" She shook her head, curling her fingers tightly around her teacup, then laughed and made herself relax. "And what about _you_? Tell me what's going on—Crumple-Horned Snorkacks treating you right?"

Luna looked abstracted. And the sky is blue, thought Ginny, and immediately felt guilty. Her friend might be a little…vague, but she was quite a sympathetic listener.

"The Crumple-Horned Snorkacks aren't the problem," Luna said seriously. "It's the perils of publishing. I love the Quibbler, but…I can't keep trying to be the editor and not doing it justice. I'm thinking of asking for some help. Like a co-editor, maybe. Someone who understands about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and the ATA and the Rotfang Conspiracy—thank Godric that's over—and the danger Wrackspurts pose to a peaceful society. Know anyone applicable?"

Ginny frowned. "Well, you know I'd love to help, but I'm getting back on the Quidditch pitch just as soon as this ridiculously long and frightfully dull holiday's over, and then I'll barely have seven minutes a day to myself. Harry's knee-deep in a case at the moment—the Mystery of the Eyelash Curler—don't ask. And Hermione is still doing the Death Eater trials—it's funny how, even after everything that's happened, the paperwork goes on. I'm afraid I don't know anyone. Are you sure you don't want to keep running the Quibbler? I guess it was never really yours—I mean your father—" Ginny broke off, embarrassed and awkward. "I'm sorry, Luna—I didn't mean—"

"It's all right," said Luna, giving Ginny a direct look. "You can say it. My father isn't fit to run anything, much less a magazine. After that last year…"

Ginny let the silence live for a moment, thinking about that last year. She and Luna and Neville had fought for Hogwarts, had fought for everything…And Luna's father had betrayed Harry to the Death Eaters…Ginny would never forget the day she, Harry, and Neville had accompanied Luna back to her mountain aerie and watched her confront her father. Her anger had been all the more powerful for its rarity. And then they'd realized Xenophilius wasn't even listening, and couldn't understand. He kept talking to people who weren't there, usually Luna's mother, and he seemed to think it was 1982. Fresh from the Final Battle, it had still been the second most heart-breaking thing Ginny had ever seen, after her brother Fred's still, peaceful face the night of May 2, 1998—the day that changed everything.

"Well," Ginny said briskly. "Enough about that. How're you and Dean?"

"We're both fine," Luna assured her, "not still together, but fine."

"You split up?" gasped Ginny. "Oh, Luna, you guys were so good together…"

"We weren't, not really. We don't agree about things, which is all right, of course, but then we don't quarrel well, which is never a good sign. And he thought I should just forget the Quibbler and get a real job."

"Oh, Luna!" Ginny murmured sympathetically. "Clearly, he's an idiot. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Luna shrugged. "We weren't that serious anyway. You don't have to frown and be the best friend who hates the ex-boyfriend, you know."

Ginny laughed. "You're depriving me of a cherished role!" she protested. "And I can't help it. You're sure you don't want me to get Harry and Ron to arrest him and give him a hard time and put him in solitary confinement for a night? 'Cause I bet I could…"

Luna frowned reprovingly at her. "Thanks, but no."

"All right—not so bad we need to punish him…How about I get us some ice cream?" They'd already finished the scones, and technically Ginny really shouldn't eat more sugar, but then, she was on vacation. She was surprised to find that this was the first time she'd thought of that fact with any enthusiasm.

"I don't suppose you have Gurdyroot ice cream?" Luna called as Ginny sprung up and headed toward the Wizarding freezer.

Ginny smiled even though Luna couldn't see her, thinking how typical such a request was of her friend. "Sorry!" she called back. "But sweetheart, you should know by now, only you make that! Now let's see: chocolate, tiny bit of pumpkin left…who's been eating the pumpkin, anyway? Half-carton of champagne, or, ooh, almost unopened cheesecake…ugh, is that Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans? This _is_ an adventure…"


	7. Champagne

**Champagne**

Married, married, married…

Harry felt weddings were all he heard about these days. Ron and Hermione, Kingsley and Hestia, George and Angelina… It was nice, he supposed, but the newly-wed atmosphere prevalent at the Ministry was starting to get in the way of efficient case management. Paperwork was hard enough without the distraction of celebratory champagne.

Still, he had to admit that he would be relieved to exchange paperwork for champagne that night. If only this one case hadn't monopolized his time this week of all weeks… He'd been forced to _postpone his wedding anniversary_ for this case. Bad-Breath Bennie had a lot to answer for.

December 16, 2000. Harry and Ginny Potter had been married for exactly one year and eight days.

Harry was taking his wife out to eat in order to celebrate, just the two of them. He'd wanted to do it last weekend, but what with one thing, another, and Bad-Breath Bennie, he'd had to abandon that scheme.

Giftwise, he felt himself in something of a quandary. He remembered something about paper as a traditional Muggle first anniversary gift, but somehow he doubted his pureblood wife would appreciate that. In the end, he decided to go with a classic, and purchased a stunning pearl necklace set in gold. Pearls were supposed to have a soothing effect, according to many respected Wizarding authorities. Lately, Ginny had seemed a little tense.

When he got home, he found a note from Bill, excusing him and Fleur from this year's Weasley Christmas celebrations. Harry didn't know why Bill was writing to him about it, but the reason for their absence wasn't far to seek—didn't even have to do with Celestina Warbeck this time. Fleur was pregnant again, and this time things seemed to be even harder than with Victoire. She probably wasn't feeling up to an extended party with her in-laws.

Which reminded Harry he really ought to get a move on in terms of Christmas gifts. He faced a daunting task, in purchasing sufficient gifts for the extended family the Weasleys were to him, but he couldn't help smiling about it. Gone were the days when he expected no gifts for holidays, and he'd take hard-to-shop-for people like the Weasleys and Luna and Neville any day. He considered them, humming absentmindedly. Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, Victoire, George…George was going to be difficult. It had to be something that celebrated George as an individual without being the sort of thing he would have given the twins while still being something George would like and find interesting…and, of course, Angelina was pregnant, too—the two of them had had a very quiet, small ceremony in an old and tiny Muggle sanctuary a few months previously. Harry wondered how long it would be before Percy and Audrey had their first kid. He grinned at the thought of all the cousins and companions his godson Teddy and his niece Victoire would soon be getting. There was so much joy in all their lives now, sometimes it was hard to believe that only a year and a half ago…

"Hey," said Ginny suddenly from the top of the stairs. Harry glanced up. She stood, partly obscured by the dark hallway, her eyes shadowed heavily and her long red hair pulled back in an elegant twist at the nape of her neck. She wore a sophisticated black dress and a few stray pieces of gold jewelry around her wrists and throat. His eyes widened in appreciation. "Ready to go?" Ginny asked flatly.

"Of course," Harry said, recovering himself. He put down the mail and surreptitiously touched his anniversary gift, buried in his pocket. "Shall we?"

Ginny came down the stairs, and their elegant moment of well-dressed anticipation was only marred by Mrs. Black, who woke and scowled at them. She still shrieked usually, but something about Ginny's fierce glare seemed to warn her that this wasn't the time. Harry felt cheered—perhaps Ginny was finally settling down to living at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Dinner was good—Harry couldn't help contrasting the elegant Lauralee Arayna (_Witch Weekly's_ choice for best couples restaurant in London) to the sappy Madame Puddifoot's, where he'd spent his very first date. Lauralee Arayna won out every time.

Ginny didn't say much until dessert. In fact, it was mostly a silent meal. Harry would have talked more, but it really had been an exhausting week. He ordered champagne, and handed Ginny her present. "Happy anniversary, sweetheart."

She took it, looked down as though she'd never heard of exchanging gifts before, pulled out a small box from her purse and handed it to him, and blinked.

Harry took the box, but said, "You go first."

"I—" Ginny paused, took a breath, then started again: "There's something we—I really need to tell you—I mean—well, I'm just—Godric, I don't know how to say this—"

Harry raised his eyebrows, concerned, and waited.

"Harry," said Ginny, looking up at him. She still held her anniversary gift, but seemed to have forgotten it. Her eyes looked even more shadowed and bloodshot now, and Harry briefly wondered if she might be sick. "Harry, I'm pregnant," said Ginny shakily.

Before Harry could speak, or fully process what he'd heard, the waiter arrived with their champagne. "Here you are, sir," he said smoothly. Smugly, he opened the bottle with a wave of his wand and sent it pouring carefully into two glasses. Then he set the bottle gently on the table, and set a few celebratory sparks into the air. "You are welcome here anytime, sir," he said reverently, and at last departed.

It occurred to Harry that he might, just might, have been recognized.

Ginny wouldn't look at him, and the sight of the champagne seemed to be making her ill.

"Ginny," Harry said softly, reaching out to hold her hand on the table. "You're pregnant? That's great!"

She looked up at him, saw the champagne, and shoved it aside with a small noise of disgust. It clattered to the floor and the glass shattered. Harry repaired it surreptitiously with a quick charm, but left it on the floor.

"Is it, though?" Ginny asked as though nothing glass-shattering had happened. "I mean, I'm only nineteen! I'm not ready for this! I don't even know how it happened—I mean, I've been drinking the potion! I must have made it wrong—how embarrassing! If Snape could see me now—which just proves how upset I am! I mean, seriously!" She looked imploringly at Harry.

"It's fine," he soothed, unwilling and unable not to come to her assistance after that look. "It's going to be fine. We may not be ready to be parents, but I'm not sure anyone is ever ready—and besides, we've got nine months. We can do this. Ginny, you're going to be a great mother. Don't you see? This is a blessing, a miracle! We're starting our own family, and I for one couldn't be happier." He was thinking what a wonderful thing this was. A new and powerful feeling seemed to race through him, revealing all his worries and petty insecurities and washing them away on a tide of shocking awareness and joyful acceptance. _He was going to be a father_…

Ginny wiped her eyes with her napkin, and Harry came back to himself a little. She still looked upset, but at least she seemed calmer now. "Sorry," she said shakily. "It sounds wonderful when you say it like that. I don't know why I'm worried. Except I do, though—so many things could go wrong, even now. I don't know if…What if things don't work out?"

Harry frowned. They were both young and healthy, so he couldn't see why things wouldn't work out. There were always risks, of course, but it was hard to imagine anything puncturing his happiness now. They would be a proper family, him and Ginny and the baby. He could feel it. "We'll see a Healer tomorrow," he said reassuringly. "And you shouldn't worry so much—that can't be good for the baby. You won't be alone in this, Ginny. I want to be there every step of the way."

"Yeah," she said, still shaky. "Yeah," she repeated, voice stronger. "I forgot. Angelina and Fleur are pregnant, too, aren't they? And then there's Victoire…I suppose my due date will be after theirs…and we'll have to talk about names at some point…and then a nursery—let's go for a gender-neutral color, like orange, okay? And before you start, I am not putting my baby in any room that has even the slightest vestige of Black family what-you-call-'ems, including Phineas Nigellus's portrait…"

Pleased that Ginny seemed to be recovered from the shock, Harry sipped his champagne, watching her and thinking how beautiful she was. Here they were, starting their lives together…baby on the way…good house, good jobs…Things were good, and he could almost forget about all the pain they'd suffered. People around him always suffered, but maybe that had finally changed…

He grinned suddenly. He was going to be a father…He couldn't wait to tell Ron and Hermione.


	8. Just Another Quidditch Match

**Just Another Quidditch Match**

Ginny breathed deeply, glad to be back on the Quidditch pitch, even if she had only left the previous evening. After a moment, she pulled her hair smoothly into a long red ponytail and swung one leg over her broomstick, and then she was airborne. As always, she felt a surge of adrenaline followed by an eerie calm, as though her awareness was simultaneously stretched to include not only her body but her broom, and contracted, so that her entire focus was narrowed to her teammates, the goalposts, the Quaffle, the Bludgers, and the opposing team.

Then she blinked, focused on the referee, and waited.

They were playing against the Montrose Magpies. All the experts said the Magpies were a favorite this season for the National Championships, but Ginny was confident the Harpies could give them a run for their money.

At last, the referee released the Quaffle. Ginny dove to catch it, and the game began.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Harry Potter was just making his way back to his seat after flagging down a refreshment vender, carrying a Butterbeer and a handful of chips. He'd only just escaped; the woman had insisted on autographs for herself, her three kids, her seven nieces and nephews, and several friends once she'd recognized him. He attempted to make his way back to his own seat next to his friends Ron and Hermione Weasley, but found his way blocked by earnest fans. Although he knew they would immediately make room if he showed them the lightning scar that was his souvenir from his very first encounter with Lord Voldemort, he really didn't want another impromptu press conference. Hence, he found himself in something of a quandary.

"Shall I ask them to move for you?" asked a calm, sympathetic voice a few feet away.

Harry turned around, exclaiming, "Luna!" in joyful accents. "It's been forever, how are you?" he demanded. He knew his wife Ginny managed to stay in touch with their most charmingly unorthodox friend from school, but he found it more difficult, since he was always at the office. In fact, he and Luna hadn't seen one another since the great Weasley Christmas of 2000. He noticed that she was looking quite lovely, her long blonde hair dancing around her face in the wind, and her large blue eyes sparkling. She wore jeans, a Muggle T-shirt with the slogan, Blessed Are They Who Can Laugh At Themselves, For They Shall Never Cease To Be Amused, and shoes that purred when she saw him.

"I'm fine," Luna said imperturbably. "Oh, look—Ginny's just got the Quaffle away from the Montrose Chaser with the large head. He didn't pay a lot of attention to the Nargles, did he?"

"I guess not," agreed Harry, sitting down beside Luna and scanning the skies for Ginny. "Want some chips?"

Absently, Luna helped herself to a few. "Have you figured out who mugged the Tysons yet?" she asked, eyes on the game. Ginny had just scored twice in rapid succession.

"Yes, but we still need to bring them in," said Harry, not surprised Luna knew about that well publicized, if minor, case. The Tysons weren't particularly well known, but the _Daily Prophet_ had run a personal interest story on them after the mugging, and now they were the latest famous victims. It hadn't been a hard case so far, Harry reflected. Arresting the man responsible might prove tricky, though. He reviewed a few hexes in his mind, just for practice.

"You'll catch them," Luna said serenely.

Harry nodded, grateful for the support. The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching Gwenog Jones kick a Bludger from one end of the pitch to the other, the blonde Harpies Chaser score, and the Captain of the opposing team take a swing at Ginny with his Beater's bat. He missed, but only because of Ginny's lightning reflexes. She executed a move that Harry fondly remembered as the Sloth Grip Roll from his own days playing Quidditch. Sometimes he missed the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Nothing would ever measure up to a team pep talk from Oliver Wood.

"So did you hear about the Malfoys?" he asked, looking for a distraction.

"I think they make a lovely couple, don't you?" Luna replied. She watched Ginny take a penalty.

Harry didn't watch, but knew Ginny must have made it from the noise the crowd made. "I guess," he agreed somewhat doubtfully. "I suppose I always thought he fancied Pansy. Who's Astoria Greengrass, anyway?"

"She was engaged to Ernie Macmillan," Luna explained. Harry nodded; he knew this already. "People don't usually elope, but I think it's romantic. A lot less opportunities to get distracted by Wrackspurts, for one thing."

"Draco Malfoy, married," mused Harry. He didn't know why it should surprise him; Draco was only following a well-established trend. Still, he couldn't help wondering what kind of girl would elope with Draco Malfoy.

"It's a pity they disowned her," commented Luna thoughtfully.

"What?" Harry demanded, shocked. "Who disowned who?" The mere word 'disowned' brought Sirius's suffering to mind for him. How anyone could ever tear apart his or her own family like that was beyond him.

Luna glanced over at him, raising her eyebrows. She looked grave. "The Greengrasses," she explained. "They disowned Astoria for marrying Draco. She must love him very much."

Harry nodded, too upset to say anything. How could Astoria Greengrass's family disown her? Ever? And for marrying someone they didn't approve of—Draco Malfoy and his mother had been acquitted on Harry's own recommendation! (Lucius Malfoy was under house arrest.) The worst part, though, was not the individual case against Draco Malfoy, but the fact that people were still being disowned for marrying the wrong person. Harry couldn't believe it. He realized he'd let himself grow complacent, thinking that because Voldemort was gone and people were recovering, even if it was an uphill battle, suddenly all was right with the Wizarding world. But obviously, oppression and prejudice weren't dead. Harry resolved to do more, somehow, to weaken the hold of those evils.

"Look, Ginny scored again," said Luna, and Harry turned toward her, feeling grateful. She'd shown him the error of his ways, and now she was tactfully changing the subject. "She's very good, isn't she?"

"Definitely," Harry agreed proudly. Ginny was an excellent Chaser. She'd already scored six times, and the Harpies were leading by twenty points. "She's doing really well, or I would've advised against this game. I don't know if she told you this—but, well—she's pregnant!"

Luna smiled serenely. "Yes, it's lovely, I know. How is she? She won't admit she's having any trouble."

Harry shrugged. "She's not, really. Two months pregnant and she's had hardly any morning sickness, anyway. She's doing great." This had been another relief to him. Ginny wasn't having nearly as much trouble as either Fleur or Angelina. Fleur especially seemed miserable lately. Her due date was in April; Angelina's was in June, and Ginny's wasn't until August.

"I'm glad," said Luna, beaming. "That's really great. Any thoughts on names?"

"Ginny wants to name the baby some variant of Fred, but I have a feeling George and Angelina are going to nab that one," Harry commented. "And how hard would it be having two Freds, same age, cousins…"

"Not that hard," Luna said fairly. "Fred Weasley and Fred Potter—initials, maybe. Still…"

Harry smiled. "Not going to suggest we name the baby after you?" he teased.

"Of course not," Luna said at once. "That would be quite selfish, you know."

Harry did know, although judging by most of the conversations he'd had in the last two months, hardly anyone else did. He was _not _naming his baby Romilda, or Percy, or Aragog, or Dedalus. Or even Kingsley. He rather liked—

There was a roar from the crowd, and Luna got up, her blonde hair streaming down her back and her enchanted model of a harpy, decorated in the team colors, raised above her head. Harry noted that she wasn't wearing any kumquat earrings before he also rose and peered upward.

Both Seekers were racing toward the ground, where a golden glimmer betrayed the Snitch.

Smirking, Ginny watched Gypsy race the Magpies Seeker, easily pulling ahead. Then the Snitch changed direction, favoring their opponents, and Gypsy was suddenly level with the Magpies Seeker, and Ginny lost her smirk. Glancing around quickly—yes, the referee was still keeping an eye on the entire game, including the Chasers, and yes, the Montrose Magpie Keeper wasn't—Ginny seized the Quaffle and scored three more times to be on the safe side.

Gypsy fought with the opposing Seeker for a few tense seconds, but at last she gained control of the Snitch. "YES!" shouted Ginny, her voice echoed by all her teammates. They flew toward Gypsy, united in triumph.

It was awhile before Ginny was able to reconnect with her loving fans. Harry smiled at her, putting an arm around her waist and dropping a kiss on her hair. She spared a thought for how sweaty and disgusting she probably was, then let it fade from her consciousness with a rueful inner smile. Luna beamed at her, and she spotted Neville in the crowd. She grinned and waved; the three of them, Neville, Luna, and herself, had held the forces of darkness at bay for a year, and that forged a bond that could never be forgotten. Ron and Hermione said, "hi," and then dashed off to work, crying, "late, late, late!" frantically.

Ginny grinned around at her teammates one last time before heading home, put a hand protectively on her stomach, and whispered, "_Hey, baby, don't forget, your mom is one heck of a Quidditch player. I love you, little one."_ Then she pulled Harry into a triumphant kiss, feeling on top of the world for once.


	9. And Baby Makes Three

**And Baby Makes Three**

"August 19, 2001. I think a part of me always knew this day was special," sighed Ginny Potter, looking down in exhausted happiness at the newborn baby in her arms.

Harry grinned down at his son, marveling at what miracles babies were, particularly this one. He'd been born only a little while previously, and he'd started crying as soon as the Healer picked him up. Now, though, he was quiet in Ginny's arms, blinking innocently up at his parents.

"So what's his name?" the Healer asked, smiling at the new parents. She was a motherly woman with blonde hair and kind eyes.

Harry wanted to be able to respond at once, but somehow, he doubted the matter was entirely settled. He sighed, but couldn't keep the joy out of his face. "Could you give us a minute?" he asked, and the Healer nodded and left the hospital room.

"So," said Ginny, "I still say having two little Freds around wouldn't be that bad. The three of them will be such good friends—George's son Fred, Bill's daughter Dominique, and our son Fr—"

"No, _not_ Fred," Harry said firmly. "See?" he gestured down at his son, who gazed at him seriously out of dark brown eyes just like his mother's. "He knows that's not his name," Harry explained.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Ordinarily she would have been annoyed, since Fred Potter sounded pretty good to her, and her son couldn't possibly dislike the name already, but she was so tired she could hardly think straight. Her eyes met her son's, and she grinned. A tear fell on the baby's cheek. "Fine," Ginny said, blinking. "What do you suggest?"

"James," Harry said at once. The baby tilted his head, peering up at his father.

"James," said Ginny thoughtfully. She knew how much this must mean to Harry, but she couldn't help a small flicker of resentment. Why should they name their son after Harry's dead father and not her dead brother? "Fine," she said with decision. "James. James _Frederick_."

Harry frowned and opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the Healer entered with a form for them to fill out. "All decided then?" she asked brightly.

"Yes," said Ginny.

"No," said Harry simultaneously.

"Please, Gin," Harry begged, turning to her and speaking rapidly and earnestly. "James. Sirius. Potter."

Ginny scowled. "You want to name our son after Sirius Black? The same one whose family used to live in our house, and can I just say that you spend an awful lot of time brooding in his old room—"

"You're naming your son after Sirius Black?" gasped the Healer. "Wasn't he a mass murderer?" Both Harry and Ginny turned to glare at her, and she backed down in face of their sheer ferocity. "I mean—not that it's anything to do with me…"

Ginny was surprised at her own extreme reaction to the Healer's casual accusation. She still preferred Frederick to Sirius as a middle name, but she couldn't just let Sirius's memory go undefended. "I think James Sirius Potter would be a wonderful name," she said softly, a hint of aggression underlying her smooth tone.

Harry beamed. Furious as he had been with the Healer (who, to be fair, probably just hadn't read about Sirius's posthumous acquittal), the hurt of losing Sirius had returned with her casual tone. His nerves were especially raw after such a hard few hours (he imagined Ginny must barely be able to keep her eyes open), and he quickly vacillated from happy to pleading to furious to relieved.

James Sirius Potter, meanwhile, had managed to stay awake for his naming, but found the subsequent filling out of forms and quiet conversation incredibly somnolent.

The next several weeks passed in a blurred haze for Ginny, whose world had narrowed to one small baby boy. She remembered her family's congratulations, Hermione cooing over James, George and Bill telling her James, Fred, and Dominique would be the best of friends and set Hogwarts on its ears once they got there—no prank would be too outrageous for the newest trio of troublemakers. This prospect made Ginny smile, because it reminded her of Fred (the elder) and George in school.

Every day James grew and changed, and Ginny found it fascinating just watching him. The days bled together, until suddenly the Quidditch season was starting again.

Her first day back, she left James with Fleur, who had her own two daughters to contend with already. The Harpies exclaimed over her, impressed that she'd kept in shape and was returned to them already. Practice went wonderfully—Ginny soared with her teammates to new heights of excellence, free as she never was on the ground.

Then she went back to Grimmauld Place. Try as she might, she still couldn't think of it as her home.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked furiously. She saw he'd started dinner, and her eyes brightened. As always after practice, she was _hungry_.

"On the pitch, with the Harpies," she answered casually. "Is anything ready yet? Because I'm starving."

"So you just left? Without even saying anything to me? Ginny, we have a son to take care of now. You can't just race around doing whatever you'd like!" Harry yelled.

"Oh my Godric!" shrieked Ginny. "James! I left him with Fleur, I've got to get over there!"

"No need," said Harry grimly. "I picked him up myself—Bill mentioned your plan to me. He's upstairs, asleep. Kreacher's watching over him."

"Ugh, I don't know what you see in that elf, anyway," Ginny muttered. Harry, adjusting a pot whose contents had boiled over, didn't seem to hear. "What's wrong with me having a career?" she demanded once he'd turned around.

Harry blinked at her in surprise. "Nothing. I just assumed you had more care for our son's well being than to leave him at your sister-in-law's for an entire day without even informing me. You know I can't be at home all day—my parental leave is over, and I have a job, Ginny."

"So do I," Ginny whispered.

After that, dinner was largely a silent meal. Ginny, however, was resolved that nothing Harry could say would make her leave the Harpies. They were her family in ways her siblings could never be. With them, she could be her true self, holding nothing back.

Still, she couldn't help feeling a little guilty for not mentioning her plan to her husband. If she was honest, she knew she hadn't wanted him to convince her not to go. James meant more to her than anything, but she wasn't the type to sit patiently at home while others risked their lives—or at least their limbs—fighting the good fight—or playing Quidditch—and if Harry could do it, she could.

After all, they had plenty of perspective babysitters. She'd get her whole family involved, if necessary. Much as she loved her son, she had a career to worry about, too.


	10. The Weight of the World

**The Weight of the World**

The next day, Harry woke disoriented. Why did he feel so frustrated? He got dressed and carried his infant son downstairs with him to where Kreacher had made breakfast.

"Where's Ginny, Kreacher?" he asked, exhausted. He'd been up part of the night with James, but that wasn't it. Heavy apprehension seemed to weigh at his limbs, as though his body were anticipating a storm.

"Mistress Ginny has gone to Quidditch practice," Kreacher informed him. "She said for Kreacher to tell Master Harry that she's sorry she didn't wait for him to get up, but not to worry because an old friend of Mylie Cinchkin's babysitter is coming over today to sit with James. Master Harry should go to work and get cracking on whatever new case is brewing."

"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said absently. "Listen, could you firecall a friend for me?" He was thinking fast. He didn't trust whatever 'old friend of Mylie Cinchkin's babysitter' Ginny had convinced to come over on such short notice. Let alone the fact that he or she could be a Death Eater in disguise, it was highly unlikely that he or she would meet his exacting standards in taking care of his son. "Ron…Hermione…Neville…all working, for Godric's sake!" he swore. "Who can I get on such short notice who'll actually find the house all right, and who won't be a bad influence on James?...Aha! Kreacher, call Luna, okay? I just hope she's not busy."

Luna, as it turned out, wasn't busy—or, at least, she assured him serenely, not with anything she couldn't do while watching over an infant.

"Thanks a million, Luna," Harry said gratefully. "I owe you one."

Luna got to Grimmauld Place only a few moments later, and she didn't even ask any awkward questions about where Ginny was and why the two of them thought they could be adequate parents if neither was ever around. Harry grinned, thanked her again, kissed James good-bye, and hurried off to work.

Luckily, his colleagues were most understanding of the circumstances that had caused him to be late several days in a row. Indeed, he wasn't even the only new father on the premises—Kingsley's wife Hestia had just given birth a few days previously to their daughter, Ainslie. Kingsley was in the office today, showing everyone baby pictures. Harry duly admired with the rest, and wondered if little Ainslie Shacklebolt would grow up to be friends with James, Fred, and Dominique.

Harry was relieved to discover that, secure in the knowledge that Luna was watching James and was more than capable of sending Ginny's teammate's cousin's babysitter or whoever away, he made rapid progress on his towering pile of paperwork. He would probably be going out to chase down the latest feeble excuses for criminal masterminds later that same week.

Around lunch, Ron and Hermione came in to his cubicle. "Want to grab something from the cafeteria?" Ron asked casually.

"Sure," Harry shrugged. "I suppose I can take a break."

"So…" Hermione asked, as the three of them headed toward the Infamous Lifts. "Where are those baby pictures of James? I expect to coo over them for the next several hours, so be warned!"

"I only have a few with me…" Harry began, reaching into his pocket.

Not quite several hours later—but after the trio had fortified themselves with some of the mediocre sustenance the Ministry cafeteria referred to as food—Hermione came up for air from James's baby pictures.

"So how are you? How's being a father?" she asked.

"Great," Harry said at once. "Tiring."

"I suppose my sister's home with the kid right now," agreed Ron.

"Actually…" Harry said slowly. "Ginny's at Quidditch practice."

"So you guys are trying to be a two-career family! Wow, Harry, that's so great!" exclaimed Hermione. Then there was a pause. "So who's with James then?" Hermione asked at last.

"Luna," said Harry. "She very kindly agreed to babysit."

"And you…that is, you trust Luna with something like this?" Hermione asked. Harry frowned at her, and she hurried back into speech. "It's just, well…Luna's a little flighty, if you know what I mean…"

"Luna saved my life," Harry said firmly. "And she's more than capable as a babysitter. What's more, you only have to watch her with James to know that she loves kids."

"Okay, okay," Hermione muttered, holding up her hands in surrender. "It does seem like maybe you and Ginny should've waited to start having children until you'd had the talk—you know, the one about who's going to stay home when, which preschool to pick, etcetera. I know I've thought about this stuff—"

"Of course you have," Harry said shortly. He felt annoyed. As usual, Hermione had managed to put her finger on something that had been troubling him. However, if she didn't have anything constructive to say, she could quit bragging about how much better her plan for having and raising children was than his. He and Ginny had already had a bit of practice on Teddy, anyway. Ginny never had a problem taking care of _him_, that was for sure. Still, the two of them were hardly raising Teddy on their own (or at all; that task fell to Andromeda).

"Look, 'Mione, maybe we should back off," Ron suggested uneasily. "It's Harry's kid, after all."

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "But having Luna babysit isn't going to work forever, you know. Eventually, you and Ginny are going to have to talk about your issues."

Harry met this remark with pointed silence.

He made sure to leave work early to visit Teddy, who was now about three and a half and a definite handful. Lately he'd taken to asking Harry about his parents and why they weren't around. He claimed 'Grandromeda' wouldn't explain any more than, "They loved you," and "They did what they had to do."

Harry Apparated to within a few feet of the door, and knocked. "Hello, Andromeda," he said when she opened the door.

In the three years since the Battle of Hogwarts, Andromeda Tonks's hair had turned gray and her beautiful dark eyes had wrinkles at the corners. She hardly ever smiled.

"Hello, Harry," she said now, serious as always. "Are you sure you want to come in right now? My nephew is here." The way she said the word 'nephew' conveyed volumes. Although Andromeda and her sister Narcissa had reconciled (over Bellatrix's grave) not long after the battle, and Andromeda had grudgingly allowed her nephew, Draco Malfoy, to visit with her and Teddy, she still refused to leave them alone in the house together. And Harry knew she wasn't really speaking to Lucius. Not that he blamed her for that.

"That's okay," he sighed now. "I'll just stay for a bit. It's been too long since I've seen my godson."

Andromeda gave him a grim nod, and stepped back. Harry followed the sounds of a loud, joyful game of Where in the World is Merlin, and entered the living room. Draco Malfoy knelt in the middle of the room, making different colored smoke swoop around the room in spirals, through which a shadowy figure in a robe covered in stars (Merlin) danced; Teddy, laughing, ran around trying to catch the smoke-Merlin.

"Hi, Teddy," Harry called. "Can I play?"

"Sure, Uncle Harry," Teddy said, turning around and grinning. "Uncle Draco's in charge of Merlin, though."

"I understand," said Harry, and proceeded to join Teddy in running around after smoke-Merlin and shrieking. Draco, who'd given him a Look halfway between apprehension and sardonic amusement when he'd first entered the room, continued to mastermind the smoke-show.

"So," Harry said neutrally, after he'd gotten tired of racing around a small room with an inexhaustible three-year-old and Andromeda had brought all three of them a snack (Teddy sat nearby, contentedly drinking milk and eating crackers and apple slices), "come here often?"

"As often as I can," said Draco at once. "Why? Have any objection, Potter?"

"No, no," Harry assured him. "And don't you think it's time you started calling me Harry? I know too many of your family now to go on calling you Malfoy."

Draco looked pained. "If I must."

"Congratulations on your marriage, by the way," Harry said, valiantly trying to keep the conversation alive. Just to prove he was comfortable in his school-years-arch-rival's presence, he ate an apple slice.

"Thank you," said Draco, surprised. "You, too."

"Thanks," Harry sighed, slumping back on the couch. "Listen, do you and your wife have a child-raising plan?" Harry figured it was safe to talk to Draco about this, since the chances that he and Ginny would ever compare notes had to be less than zero.

Draco looked quite taken aback. "Well," he said cautiously, "we don't actually have any children yet. Of course, if and when we do have some, I have no intention of giving them in-depth Dark Arts training in any way, and I will try to restrain my father."

Harry blinked. "Good. That's not what I meant, but it's good. No. What I meant was…oh forget it." He frowned into his milk.

"Are you and Weaselette having marital difficulties?" Draco asked, a little too gleefully. Harry glared at him. "Sorry," Draco said, sobering at once. "I'm sure it must be hard, new baby and all…Please, go on."

"It's just…" Harry complained. "You'd think she wouldn't be so eager to rush back onto the Quidditch pitch, when James is only three months old. I have to work, myself—I mean, I suppose I can take more time off, but it's going to get difficult when I'm working a case and she's at a game and poor James is in the inexperienced hands of some incompetent stranger."

Draco shrugged. "Ordinarily, that's what I'd say house-elves are for. Other than that, doesn't the world abound with Weasleys you can leave the kid with? Or are you too good for babysitters?"

"It's not that," Harry said quickly. "I just—I don't know."

"Well, when you figure it out, let me know," Draco said, smiling. "Astoria and I will no doubt benefit from your good advice and prior experience."

"You're still a sarcastic git," Harry complained good-naturedly, and the session quickly turned into an insult fest. Harry said things about Draco's evil father, Draco said things about Harry's Muggle-born mother…

It reminded Harry of their school years, and he found himself feeling oddly nostalgic for those days. Everything had been so much simpler then: sure, he'd had to defend the entire Wizarding world against a nearly unstoppable, power-hungry, soul-splitting, blood-purity-obsessed, snakelike fiend who'd murdered Harry's parents and connected his shattered soul to Harry's, but at least Harry had known where he stood then. And his friends and enemies had been obvious in their loyalties (except for Professor Snape, and, conceivably, Draco and Draco's parents—or at least Draco's mother). He'd learned a lot, met his godfather, been Dumbledore's protégé…he might have had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but at least he had, by and large, known what to do with it.

Everything was different now. In hindsight, it hadn't been too hard to become an Auror, or support his friends, or help out with Teddy, or marry Ginny…Harry was thankful that he'd been given so much—those he loved were relatively safe and going on to make names for themselves, and get what they wanted out of life.

The most important change, though, was James—Harry was so thankful to have been given the chance to be a father. He loved James so much. But he couldn't deny that his life had gotten a lot more complicated since August 19, 2001. He was constantly afraid for his son's safety, well-being, and happiness. He wanted everything in James's life to be perfect—he wanted nothing but the best for his little boy. And that was not easy to arrange. He couldn't deny it: he was worried.

Harry left not long after his discussion-turned-quarrel with Draco—he wanted to get home before Ginny so he could see how Luna and James had gotten along together all day. He still felt a little guilty for imposing on her like this. He also needed to cook dinner, write a report for Kingsley, and convince Kreacher that more light in the house would be an advantage, not a travesty.

Navigating his way home was easier said than done, since wizards invariably realized who he was and demanded his autograph as though it were their Godric-given right, and Muggles gave his Auror uniform strange looks, but Harry managed it. "Luna!" he called as soon as he came in the door. Mrs. Black's portrait started shrieking at him. He ignored her.

"Hello, Harry," said Luna, walking up the stairs with James on her hip and her wand in her hand. "Hush, Mrs. Black," she told the portrait, and waved her wand gently. The curtains around the portrait closed with a gentle swish.

Harry beamed at her. "You are amazing," he said fervently. "How was your day?"

"Good," she said, blinking at him seriously. "Your son is very precocious. He understood every word I said to him—he'll be talking soon."

"Listen, I really appreciate this, Luna," Harry told her. "I mean, I know you have a job and life of your own."

Luna shrugged. "I don't mind. I wrote an article on Wrackspurts while I was watching James. Luckily, there are hardly any here—except near the pantry, for some reason."

"Huh," Harry agreed distractedly. "Listen, if you're available tomorrow—" His mind was already on what he ought to make for dinner.

"All right. This isn't a permanent solution, however," Luna pointed out. Harry was surprised to find that he didn't mind when she said it (versus the various other people who had told him the same thing). Somehow, it was less irritating having the flaws in his plan pointed out by Luna than by anyone else.

Luna considered him for a moment, nodded decisively, and handed James over to him. James gurgled and smiled, reaching for Harry—but refused to let go of a strand of Luna's long blonde hair. Harry tried to pull him away, but he wouldn't release the fine blonde strands. Laughing, Luna gently tugged his fingers loose, commenting, "Now, James, I need my hair back, you know. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Luna! Thanks again!" Harry called after her as she left. He'd forgotten to modulate his voice, but, to his surprise, Mrs. Black's curtains didn't open to reveal her screaming face again. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was something about Luna that made it easier to be himself—not the Chosen One, not the Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived Again, or any of his other titles—just himself. Just Harry.

It was nice—having a bit of a respite from the near-constant burdens of worry for James, household chores, work, Ginny, and James. Harry took a deep breath, and headed down to the kitchen, James quiescent in his arms—once more into the breach.

"_Here we go_," he whispered, and the portraits' eyes followed him down the stairs.

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"Andromeda and her sister Narcissa had reconciled (over Bellatrix's grave) not long after the battle..." This line refers to a scene that occurs in one of my other stories, _What It Means To Be A Black, Take Two_.


	11. A Chat Between Two Old Friends

Author's Note: Sorry for the long delay, everyone! Here's the next installment.

* * *

**A Chat Between Two Old Friends**

"Ginny?" Hermione Weasley called warily from just inside the door. "We need to talk." Her voice carried up the stairs, alerted the portrait in the front hall (who promptly started screaming) and nearly woke little James Sirius Potter.

Ginny, having just laid him down for a nap, was understandably irritated. She frowned, and hurried noiselessly from the room. The solid wood floor felt cold under her stockinged feet, and, not for the first time, she wished they had a good carpet upstairs.

Ginny silenced Mrs. Black's portrait with a vicious slash of her wand, grabbed Hermione's arm, and dragged her down to the kitchen—the most friendly room in the entire house, in her opinion. Reflexively, Ginny began preparations for tea with another swipe of her wand, and slumped into a chair drawn a little way away from the table, stretching one leg to dangle over the armrest. She crossed her arms, looked at Hermione, and waited. If Hermione planned to critique her housekeeping, that was just too bad, Ginny thought angrily. Just because she was such a perfectionist…of course, Harry was the same way, which was why everything remained so spic and span.

It was Sunday, Ginny's one day off from Quidditch practice. She was spending it with James, and if Harry had any sense of what was due to his family (other than financial support, cooking, and cleaning) he would be there with them, instead of at the office, tracking some new villain selling dangerous combination potions (like Twenty-Four-Hour Kiss, a mix of lowered inhibitions and short-term memory loss) in Knockturn Alley. Couldn't he possibly coordinate bad-guy-catching with her practices, so there would be one day a week the two of them could spend with their infant son, together, as a family? Sometimes Harry could be so inconsiderate of others.

"What?" Ginny asked finally, tired of Hermione's fixed, thoughtful regard.

Hermione blinked. "Like I told you, we need to talk. You and Harry—"

"I don't see how my relationship with my husband is any of your concern," Ginny snapped peevishly.

"Just hear me out, okay?" Hermione insisted. She sat perched on the very edge of a chair directly across from Ginny's. "When have I ever given you bad advice about your relationship with Harry before?"

There was a small silence as both women thought back to Hermione's advice to "open up a bit around Harry. Be yourself more," in the early stages of Ginny's crush; "he's only doing this because he cares about you. Also, you know you can't come with us while you still have the Trace," during the summer after Ginny's fifth year, when Harry had broken up with her "for her own good"; and, of course, "he loves you so much—he's really hurting. Just talk to him," after the Battle of Hogwarts, when Harry had abandoned Ginny for a year to fight the forces of darkness. Not to mention the more light-hearted marital advice that was like a constant stream of commentary these days. A person might think, Ginny reflected bitterly, that Hermione and Ron's relationship was picture-perfect, to hear the former talk. Unless, of course, they spent a half-an-hour in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Ron Weasley.

"Go ahead," Ginny sighed. Another Hermione lecture. This was not how she'd imagined her Sunday.

Hermione, secure in the knowledge of an at least semi-captive audience, launched in immediately. "You see, Ginny, you and Harry really need to talk about who is going to be doing what to raise James. It's fine if you want one person to be the primary caregiver while the other is responsible for the finances, or if you want the work divided up more equally. The important thing is for the two of you to agree on something. Now, ever since you went back to the Harpies, and even before that, sometimes, I've noticed a definite increase in how much stress Harry seems to be under. Personally, I think he's doing too much—working for the greater good of the Wizarding world of course, and also arranging baby-sitters for James, and being a good godfather to Teddy, and in general trying to make the world a better place. You know, he actually talks civilly with Draco Malfoy when they meet at Mrs. Tonks's." Hermione looked quite awed. "The things Harry's willing to do for peace…"

"So, what are you saying?" Ginny began, but at that moment the tea kettle whistled, and she got up to see to that. She could have done it from where she sat, but things like Levitation Charms were much easier if you could see the object you were levitating. Otherwise, she might end up breaking the tea set, which would be a pity.

"I'm saying," Hermione called from the table, "that maybe you should cut back on your practice time, so you can be here for Harry and James, instead of thinking about yourself all the time. I know Harry could really use your help."

Ginny counted to ten in her head, but in spite of her efforts, the tea tray was starting to shake in her hands. The torches flickered, and the cupboard doors swung open and shut. Ginny breathed deeply, trying to calm down. She really had no idea why she resented her friend's words so much. After all, wasn't she living the life she'd always dreamed of? And Harry probably didn't actually think she was being selfish to want a career of her own—Hermione didn't always clear her assumptions with everyone involved, and besides, Harry always believed the best of people.

Gradually, Ginny's immediate environment calmed down. She took the tea in to Hermione, set it down, and poured with shaking hands.

"So," she said at length, in a normal voice, "What else is new? Apart from my selfish desire to have a life of my own—pass any interesting legislation lately?"

"Well, I am working on a new House-Elf Liberation Act—" Hermione began enthusiastically. Then she paused. "Are you all right, Ginny?"

"Me?" Ginny asked innocently. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Hermione. Just go on saving the world, one house-elf at a time."

Hermione gave her a strange look, sipped her tea and changed the subject again. "So, apparently Neville's seeing someone—Hannah Abbott."

"Really?" Ginny asked, interested. She was glad for Neville, she told herself. After all he'd been through—he was so brave, leading Dumbledore's Army into battle against the Carrows and Snape, who, whatever Harry said, had certainly seemed evil enough that year...And, of course, Neville had slain You-Know-Who's snake, after bravely standing up to him…Frankly, Ginny would never have recognized him as the same boy who'd taken her to the Yule Ball and stepped on her feet. Neville Longbottom truly was a hero. In fact, Ginny wasn't sure Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff a year above herself, was good enough for him.

"Really," Hermione corroborated, and launched into a detailed description of how they'd found each other again after school, their first date, and, of course, how they were so exactly suited to each other in every way and would be desperately happy together for many years to come. Ginny resisted the urge to snort in disbelief. The truth was, Hermione was a closet romantic.

"And," Hermione continued, once she'd discussed the probable names of Neville and Hannah's children—for some reason 'Daisy Alice Longbottom' was top of the list—"guess who else is dating again?"

"Lavender?" Ginny hazarded. Last she'd heard, Lavender Brown had started dating Anthony Goldstein after her tragic break-up with Seamus Finnigan, who'd been two-timing her with Daphne Greengrass.

"No," Hermione replied, frowning a bit, as she always did when Lavender's name was mentioned. She hadn't forgiven her dormmate for dating Ron for most of Ginny's fifth year. "No—Luna!"

"What? When did she tell you this?" Ginny demanded. She wasn't surprised, just a little jealous that Luna had told Hermione before her.

Hermione shrugged. "I came by the other day while she was babysitting James. Apparently, his name's Rolf Scamander, grandson of the famous Newt Scamander—the one who wrote _Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them._ She says he's interested in rare and presumably mythical creatures too, so of course they've got a lot in common. Plus, he's apparently very sensitive to Nerremirh Vibrations, whatever those are; he's only nineteen, which is a year younger than her; he has blue eyes and an adorable dimple in his left cheek. It didn't sound like they've kissed yet."

"Wow," was all Ginny could find to say to this.

"I know," agreed Hermione. She sighed. "Isn't it just so romantic? They care about the same things, and you can just see them going off to look for ridiculous creatures like Crumple-Horned Snorkacks together and having one or two kids who'll grow up with the Potter-Weasley clan…I'm sure we'll all like Rolf tremendously."

"Yeah," agreed Ginny, privately vowing to meet this paragon of Luna's (and discover what Nurremirh Vibrations were) before Hermione got the chance. "Great."

Hermione stayed for only a few more minutes (as always, she had to rush off somewhere. It really was lucky, Ginny thought, that she and Ron had their own library in the little cottage in Ottery St. Catchpoole. Hermione needed books the way most people needed oxygen).

Ginny tried to relax after she'd gone, but somehow it seemed harder than usual. She felt annoyed, even angry—and annoyed with herself for being annoyed when Hermione was only trying to help. It was just—Ginny was tired of accepting help. Tired of people offering it, too. It was one thing if you asked, but the way people assumed she needed assistance in every little thing…Ginny couldn't decide if it was because she was the youngest of seven children, or that thing with Tom Riddle controlling her for most of her first year, or the fact that she was Mrs. Harry Potter—Mrs. Chosen One, Mrs. Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived Again. Or did something about her, herself, scream, "helpless victim of circumstance, damsel in distress crying out for help and assistance"?

Was she an idiot to be this bothered?


End file.
